Disclaimer: The characters of Person of Interest don't belong to me. I'm just borrowing them with no intention of gaining any profit by doing so.

Chapter 1

*Tock*

*Tock*

*Ta tock*

*Tock*

The incessant noise was starting to thoroughly annoy the hell out of John Reese as it disturbed his state of sweet oblivion. At every tock his head lifted slightly off the carpeted ground it rested on, only to flop back down right away. The more Reese returned to awareness, the more sensation flooded back into his being. The air he smelled was old and musty with an underlying note of gasoline, oil and rubber. To make matters even worse, with each involuntary bounce of his head, splitting pain shot through his brain.

*Tock*

He groaned.

"Mr. Reese?" Harold's voice was way too loud in his ear and he might have groaned again, though John wasn't entirely sure.

"John? Can you hear me?"

The worry and urgency in Finch's voice caught John's attention. In his experience, Harold Finch only adopted that kind of tone when things were going downhill fast.

Deciding that it was probably a good idea to get his act together, Reese cautiously opened his eyes. Previous experiences with waking up after not really remembering having gone to sleep in the first place and having a woodpecker happily chip away at his brain had taught him the painful lesson, that letting bright light hit his unprepared retina generally only added to his grief.

John blinked a few times surprised at the lack of the dreaded bright light. Actually, the lack of any light. He wanted to probe if something was maybe covering his head, but found his arms were locked in a painful position behind his back, tied securely together. All in all, the position he had found himself in was a very uncomfortable one.

The space around him was extremely confined, which had resulted in his long frame having literally been folded in order for him to fit. He was lying on his left side, his legs bent sharply at his knees, cutting of the circulation to his feet. His knees dug painfully into the wall and there wasn't much room for moving his head about either. To make matters worse, his overzealous captor even had gone that far and bound his arms and legs together.

It wasn't hard for John to figure out where he was, since he - unfortunately - had ended up in quite similar situations before. And in his experience, waking up, tied up like a Brezel, inside the trunk of a - from the sounds of it - speeding car was never a good sign.

Although, John was still a little foggy on the details on how he ended up in the trunk, he was pretty sure that the last thing he remembered before waking up was that he had just successfully extracted their latest number out of a potentially deathly situation. Trying to rib off the Russian mob was not just extremely dangerous, but also monumentally stupid and Reese had been in the process of explaining that to the half-wit, whose number the machine had spat out the day before, when he had made the mistake of taking his attention off the guy for just a second. That was when all lights went out.

John wanted to scream in frustration, but since his head was still the home to an entire family of woodpeckers, he decided against it. Wouldn't do him any good anyway.

"Mr. Reese?!" John winced at the renewed spark of pain Finch's voice caused, adding to the already painful throbbing behind his temples. What the hell had that guy used to knock him out? A tire iron?

"Yeah, Finch. I'm here." he croaked before Harold decided to give screaming in his ear another try.

"Oh, thank God." Harold sighed in relief. "Are you alright?"

Reese took a moment to consider the question, but beside his throbbing head and aching extremities he couldn't feel anything else that would point to a more life threatening injury.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He let his head drop back down onto the carpet, allowing his unhappy neck muscles to take a break from holding it up at an awkward angle. "Just a little tied up, at the moment." John paused, then added dryly, "literally."

"I hardly deem your current situation as a joking matter and, seriously, Mr. Reese", the relief in Harold's voice had quickly changed into slight irritation, "where were you on the day they covered 'precaution' at spy school?"

"Now", Reese growled as he tried to move himself into a position were he might be able to pry open the trunk lid, "is not the time." John tried to assert pressure on the lid by bracing his knees against it and arching his back off the trunk floor. But due to the awkward way his hands and feet were tied together he wasn't able to produce enough force, or even get his feet into the position he wanted. Frustrated he gave up. "Besides, you were the one who distracted me", he said quietly, inflicting his voice with just a slight undercurrent of accusation. "And I don't remember you warning me that Mr. Ferretti was planning to double-cross us."

"I guess we both didn't see that coming. He probably didn't like the idea of being send out of town without his money." Having toned down his irritation, Finch even sounded a little contrite at having been a factor in John's capture. "At least he didn't take your phone. I've been tracking your signal and have alerted the Detectives to your latest predicament. They are en route."

Great, John thought. At least last time he'd been able to somewhat gracefully stumble out and away from the burning car, which trunk he'd had the pleasure of further inspecting, by himself. Now, tied up like he was, he was going to be at the mercy of the two Detectives.

"How long was I out?" he wondered out loud. He doubted that he would suffocate, but the air was getting rather stuffy.

"About twenty minutes. Of which fifteen you've spent on the move." Finch replied immediately.

Well, Reese had to give Mr. Ferretti some credit. Five minutes for getting him inside this tiny trunk and tying him up was not bad. John shifted, trying to get more comfortable, but only ended up having his back press against the cold metal of the latch. Something else was digging into the flesh of his back and he realized beside the phone the idiot even left him his gun. Now, if he could only get to it, but no matter which kind of contortion he tried to perform there was no reaching it.

Alerted by the increase in huffs and painful grunts, the traces of worry in Harold Finch's voice were minute and most likely undetectable by most, but John had picked up on his friend's tells a long time ago. "Mr. Reese, are you sure you are alright?"

"Yes, Harold, I'm fine." John reassured the other man, once more. Resigning himself to the fact that he wasn't going to get out of his bonds by himself, John tried to relax, reserving as much energy as he could for the moment the trunk lid was going to be opened. "I'd just like to get some fresh air."

"Be careful what you wish for, Mr. Reese. Looks like Mr. Ferretti is heading to the docks."

John wasn't that worried. Unless Mr. Ferretti got any stupid ideas - like setting the car on fire - Reese was confident that he could overpower the 5ft 4'' tall man even with his hands bound behind his back. Nevertheless, a little backup wouldn't hurt. "How far behind are the Detectives?" he asked.

"About 15 minutes." replied Finch.

"Tell them to step on it."

"I already have, Mr. Reese."

Reese noticed that the car's speed must have decreased considerably. A couple of minutes later it came to a complete stop and the sound of doors being opened reached his ears, though the engine kept on running. Expecting the trunk lid to open any minute now, Reese flexed his muscles, ready to move as soon as the opportunity arose.

"Finch, we've stopped. How long until the Detectives get here?" he whispered into the darkness.

"They are still at least 10 minutes out."

The worry in Finch's voice went up a notch and John had to admit that waiting in the darkness and not knowing what was going to happen was getting to him, as well. Reese listened intently, trying to gauge Ferretti's whereabouts and his proximity to the trunk. He heard the crunch of someone stepping on gravel on concrete and felt the car rock back and forth. What the hell was the guy doing?

Suddenly the engine revved up again and the car lurched forwards, picking up speed fast with a screaming engine.

"Mr. Reese, what's going on?" Harold asked, but before John could unnecessarily inform him that they were moving again, Finch cut in, definitely horrified this time. "Oh God. You are heading for the Hudson!"

Reese understood immediately what Ferretti had been up to moments before and he once more took up his fruitless efforts to break open the lid. Suddenly, he felt weightless for a brief moment only to crash down hard against the backside of the rear seats as the car impacted with the water.

John got the breath knocked out of him with a painful grunt, but he knew he didn't have the time to worry about catching it again. He struggled, trying to turn on his knees to press his back against the lid, but the space was just too narrow and with his arms and legs bound together he had no chance of getting his knees under him.

Harold was calling out his name over and over, demanding to know what was happening.

John did the math. The Detectives had been 10 minutes away when the car stopped. It had taken Ferretti about 3 minutes to rig the car to drive itself into the river. Water was already streaming through the cracks, filling the tiny space and he'd give it a minute until there would be no air left. He figured he'd be able to hold his breath 2 minutes. 3 tops. That left three minutes - not counting the time it would take the Detectives to get him out of the trunk. Three minutes for him to drown. Probably more.

"Mr. Reese!" Finch shouted in his ear. The water had already risen above his left shoulder, splashing against the side of his face. At least fate would have it that his phone was in the pocket of his coat on the side he was not lying on already submerged in water.

"Harold", he said quietly.

"John!" Harold's voice was distorted as the connection started to break up the deeper the car sank under water. John knew that he might only have a few more moments left before he got disconnected.

"Harold, I'm sorry." he said calmly. "I ..."

"No!" Finch cut him off with vehemence. "I'm not going to let you say goodbye, John. Not again."

"Harold."

"They are almost there! You have got to hang on!" Reese couldn't help but smile at the commanding tone Finch's voice had adopted.

A soft thud went through the car and John felt a dampened impact. He had reached the river ground and by now, he was almost completely immersed in the water, craning his neck as far as he could to keep his face above the surface. Odds were that this was going to be the last time he would get to say goodbye, so he had to make it count.

"Thank you, Harold. For everything."

"John, no, you've got ..." Whatever Finch had been about to say was cut off as the water level rose above Reese's ear.

John strained his neck as far as he could to keep his face out of the water, but he could feel as the cold liquid slowly and unstoppable crept higher.

Breathing shallowly until the water reached his mouth, John took one last deep breath through his nose before he was completely submerged. He closed his eyes and relaxed his muscles, letting his head sink back down to the trunk floor.

Everything was quiet now, except for his own slow and steady heart beat in his ear. John cleared his mind of all thought. Well, he tried, but found that he had trouble disconnecting his mind from his body like he had been trained to do and had done so many times before. Two years ago he would have gladly given in, knowing that there was nothing left for him to live for. But now - and John guessed he shouldn't really be surprised - he realized that he didn't want to die. Not now. Not here. And definitely not like this.

His lungs started to burn, craving the needed oxygen. John tried once more to concentrate his thoughts on the memories of the last time he had felt truly happy and content, but they kept drifting back to the here and now. His lungs were practically screaming for air now and his heart was beating like a jack hammer in his ears.

His eyes shot open as he couldn't suppress his body's need for oxygen any longer. But instead of blessed air, ice cold water shot into his lungs and stomach. John's body jerked as he choked on the water, doing its best to cough it back out only ending up with even more water entering his airways.

Even though he knew that there was nothing he could do to save himself, panic took over and Reese began thrashing around, desperately trying to free himself of his restraints, only to accelerate the depletion of the last precious remnants of oxygen in his bloodstream.

The jerky movements became less frequent as his strength literally fled his body. The panic John had felt only moments before was gone, replaced by a deep and all-encompassing tranquility as he accepted the inevitable. He felt warm, smelling the rich fragrance of blooming flowers on a warm, sunny day. A small smile played around John Reese's lips as he felt the soft wisps of blond hair, smelling of sweet roses, caress his face. Familiar - yet almost forgotten - laughter echoed through his mind, before he knew no more and his eyes kept staring - unseeing - into the cold, wet darkness that surrounded his lifeless body.